The Witness, Grace Livingston Hill Lutz [the little red hen ebook .TXT] 📗
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- Author: Grace Livingston Hill Lutz
Book online «The Witness, Grace Livingston Hill Lutz [the little red hen ebook .TXT] 📗». Author Grace Livingston Hill Lutz
Soviet Should Have Been Driven Irresistibly To The Point Where It Must
Either Renounce Its Own Existence Or Oppose The Provisional Government.
The Dominating Spirit And Thought Of The Soviet Was That Of International
Social Democracy. While Most Of The Delegates Believed That It Was
Necessary To Prosecute The War And To Defeat The Aggressions Of The Central
Empires, They Were Still Socialists, Internationalists, Fundamental
Democrats, And Anti-Imperialists. Not Without Good And Sufficient Reason,
They Mistrusted The Bourgeois Statesmen And Believed That Some Of The Most
Influential Among Them Were Imperialists, Actuated By A Desire For
Territorial Expansion, Especially The Annexation Of Constantinople, And
That They Were Committed To Various Secret Treaties Entered Into By The Old
Régime With England, France, And Italy. In The Meetings Of The Soviet, And
In Other Assemblages Of Workers, The Ugly Suspicion Grew That The War Was
Not Simply A War For National Defense, For Which There Was Democratic
Sanction And Justification, But A War Of Imperialism, And That The
Provisional Government Was Pursuing The Old Ways Of Secret Diplomacy.
Strength Was Given To This Feeling When Miliukov, The Foreign Minister, In
An Interview Championed The Annexation Of Constantinople As A Necessary
Safeguard For The Outlet To The Mediterranean Which Russian Economic
Development Needed. Immediately There Was An Outcry Of Protest From The
Soviet, In Which, It Should Be Observed, The Bolsheviki Were Already
Gaining Strength And Confidence, Thanks To The Leadership Of Kamenev,
Lenine's Colleague, Who Had Returned From Siberian Exile. It Was Not Only
The Bolsheviki, However, Who Protested Against Imperialistic Tendencies.
Practically The Whole Body Of Socialists, Mensheviki And Bolsheviki Alike,
Agreed In Opposing Imperialism And Secret Diplomacy. Socialists Loyal To
The National Defense And Socialists Who Repudiated Thay. Sdulgently. "She Didn't
Have Any Use For A Chaperon, Child," He Said, As If He Were A Great Deal
Older Than She. "She Came Here With Her Little Brother To Earn Their
Living."
"Oh, She _Had_ A Brother, Then!" Sighed Gila With Evident Relief.
It Occurred To Courtland To Be A Bit Pleased That Gila Was So Particular
About The Conventionalities. He Had Heard It Rumored More Than Once That
Her Own Conduct Overstepped The Most Lenient Of Rules. That Must Have
Been A Mistake. It Was A Relief To Know It From Her Own Lips. But He
Explained, Gently:
"The Little Brother Was Killed On Monday Night," He Said, Gravely. "Just
Run Down In Cold Blood By A Passing Automobile."
"How Perfectly Dreadful!" Shuddered Gila, Shrinking Back Into The Depths
Of The Chair. "But You Know You Mustn't Believe A Story Like That! Poor
People Are Always Getting Up Such Tales About Rich People's
Automobiles. It Isn't True At All. No Chauffeur Would Do A Thing Like
That! The Children Just Run Out And Get In The Way Of The Cars To
Tantalize The Drivers. I've Seen Them Myself. Why, Our Chauffeur Has
Chapter 12 Pg 67Been Arrested Three Or Four Times And Charged With Running Over Children
And Dogs, When It Wasn't His Fault At All; The People Were Just Trying
To Get Some Money Out Of Us! I Don't Suppose The Little Child Was Run
Over. It Was Probably His Own Fault."
"Yes, He Was Run Over," Said Courtland, Gently. "I Saw It Myself! I Was
Standing On The Curbstone When The Boy--He Was A Beautiful Little Fellow
With Long Golden Curls--Rushed Out To Meet His Sister, Calling Out To
Her, And The Automobile Came Whirring By Without A Sign Of A Horn, And
Crushed Him Down Just Like A Broken Lily. He Never Lifted His Head Nor
Made A Motion Again, And The Automobile Never Even Slowed Up To
See--Just Shot Ahead And Was Gone."
Gila Was Still For A Minute. She Had No Words To Meet A Situation Like
This. "Oh, Well," She Said, "I Suppose He Is Better Off, And The Girl
Is, Too. How Could She Take Care Of A Child In The City Alone, And Do
Any Work? Besides, Children Are An Awful Torment, And Very Likely He
Would Have Turned Out Bad. Boys Usually Do. What Did You Want Me To Do
For Her? Get Her A Position As A Maid?"
There Was Something Almost Flippant In Her Tone. Strange That Courtland
Did Not Recognize It. But The Firelight, The White Gown, The Pure
Profile, The Down-Drooped Lashes Had Done For Him Once More What The Red
Light Had Done Before--Taken Him Out Of His Normal Senses And Made Him
See A Gila That Was Not Really There: Soft, Sweet, Tender, Womanly. The
Words, Though They Did Not Satisfy Him, Merely Meant That She Had Not
Yet Understood What He Wanted, And Was Striving Hard To Find Out.
"No," He Said, Gently. "I Want You To Go And See Her. She Is Sick And In
The Hospital. She Needs A Friend, A Real Girl Friend, Such As You Could
Be If You Would."
Gila Answered In Her Slow, Pretty Drawl: "Why, I Hate Hospitals! I
Wouldn't Even Go To See Mama When She Had An Operation On Her Neck Last
Winter, Because I Hate The Odors They Have Around. But I'll Go If You
Want Me To. Of Course I Won't Promise How Much Good I'll Do. Girls Of
That Stamp Don't Want To Be Helped, You Know. They Think They Know It
All, And They Are Usually Most Insulting. But I'll See What I Can Do. I
Don't Mind Giving Her Something. I've Three Evening Dresses That I
Perfectly Hate, And One Of Them I've Never Had On But Once. She Might
Get A Position To Act Somewhere Or Sing In A Cafe If She Had Good
Clothes."
Courtland Hastened Earnestly To Impress Her With The Fact That Miss
Brentwood Was A Refined Girl Of Good Family, And That It Would Be An
Insult To Offer Her Second-Hand Clothing; But When He Gave It Up And
Yielded To Gila's Plea That He Drop These Horrid, Gloomy Subjects And
Talk About Something Cheerful, He Had A Feeling Of Failure. Perhaps He
Ought Not To Have Told Gila, After All. She Simply Couldn't Understand
The Other Girl Because She Had Never Dreamed Of Such A Situation.
If He Could Have Seen His Gentle Gila A Couple Of Hours Later, Standing
Before Her Mirror Again And Setting Those Little Sharp Teeth Into Her
Red Lip, The Ugly Frown Between Her Angry Eyes; If He Could Have Heard
Chapter 12 Pg 68Her Low-Muttered Words, And, Worse Still, Guessed Her Thoughts About
Himself And That Other Girl--He Certainly Would Have Gone Out And
Gnashed His Teeth In Despair. If He Could Have Known What Was To Come
Of His Request To Gila Dare He Would Have Rung Up The Hospital And Had
Miss Brentwood Moved To Another One In Hot Haste, Or, Better Still, Have
Taken Strenuous Measures To Prevent That Visit. But Instead Of That He
Read Mother Marshall's Telegram Over Again, And Lay Down To Forget Gila
Dare Utterly, And Think Pleasant Thoughts About The Marshalls.
Chapter 13 Pg 69
Gila Dare, In Her Very Most Startling Costume, Lavishly Plastered With
Costly Fur, And High-Laced, French-Heeled Boots, Came Tripping Down Her
Father's Steps To The Limousine. She Carried A Dangling Little Trick Of
A Hand-Bag And A Muff Big Enough For A Rug. Her Two Eyes Looked Forth
From The Rim Of The Low-Squashed, Bandage-Like Fur Hat Like The Eyes Of
A Small, Sly Mouse That Was About To Nibble Somebody Else's Cheese.
By Her Side A Logy Youth, With Small, Blue Fish-Eyes Fixed Adoringly On
Her, Sauntered Protectingly. She Wore A Large Bunch Of Pale-Yellow
Orchids, Evidently His Gift, And Was Paying For Them With Her Glances.
One Knew By The Excited Flush On The Young Man's Face That He Had Rarely
Been Paid So Well. His Eyes Took On A Glint Of Intelligence, One Might
Almost Say Of Hope, And He Smiled Egregiously, Egotistically. His
Assurance Grew With Each Step He Took. As He Opened The Door Of The
Luxurious Car For Her He Wore An Attitude Of One Who Might Possibly Be A
Fiance. Her Little Mouse-Eyes--You Wouldn't Have Dreamed They Could Ever
Be Large And Wistful, Nor Innocent, Either--Twinkled Pleasurably. She
Was Playing Her Usual Game And Playing It Well. It Was The Game For
Which She Was Rapidly Becoming Notorious, Young As She Was.
"Oh, Now, _Chaw_-! _Ree_-Ally! Why, I Never Dreamed It Was That Bad! But
You Mustn't, You Know! I Never Gave You Permission!"
The Chauffeur, Sitting Stolidly In His Uniform, Awaiting The Word To
Move, Wondered Idly What She Was Up To Now. He Was Used To Seeing The
Game Played All Around Him Day After Day, As If He Were A Stick Or A
Stone, Or One Of The Metal Trappings Of The Car.
"Chawley" Hathaway Looked Unutterable Things, And The Little Mouse-Eyes
Chapter 13 Pg 70Looked Back Unutterable Things, With That Lingering,
Just-Too-Long-For-Pardoning Glance That A Certain Kind Of Men And Women
Employ When They Want To Loiter Near The Danger-Line And Toy With Vital
Things. An Impressive Hand-Clasp, Another Long, Languishing Look, Just A
Shade Longer This Time; Then He Closed The Door, Lifted His Hat At The
Mouse-Eyed Goddess, And The Limousine Swept Away. They Had Parted As If
Something Momentous Had Occurred, And Both Knew In Their Hearts That
Neither Had Meant Anything At All Except To Play With Fire For An
Instant, Like Children Sporting At Lighting A Border Of Forest That Has
A Heart Of True Homes In Its Keeping.
Gila Swept On In Her Chariot. The Young Man With Whom She Had Played Was
Well Skilled In The Game. He Understood Her Perfectly, As She Him. If He
Got Burned Sometimes It Was "Up To Him." She Meant To Take Good Care Of
Herself.
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